Poison Study
by xxsezaxx
Summary: On the eve of her execution for murder, Rosemarie Hathaway is offered an incredible opportunity. The noose or the new poison-food taster for the Commander. It is the Adviser to the Commander's job - Dimitri Belikov - Too carry out the potentially fatal training of poison study. Follow the journey of a young woman as she tests the poisons of life...and love.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own this story at all, full credit goes to Maria V. Snyder for the story/plot and the characters go to Richelle Mead!**

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**Hey guys, I loved this series and especially this book and I couldn't help but place our favourite heroine's into the story and put it up for you all! Enjoy!**

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Poison Study: Chapter one

Locked in darkness that surrounded me like a coffin, I had nothing to distract me from my memories. Vivid recollections waited to ambush me whenever my mind wandered.

Encompassed by the blackness, I remembered white-hot flames stabbing at my face. Though my hands had been tied to a post that dug sharply into my back, I had recoiled from the onslaught.

The fire had pulled away just before blistering my skin, but my eyebrows and eyelashes had long since been singed off.

"Put the flames out!" a man's rough voice had ordered. I blew at the blaze through cracked lips. Dried by fire and fear, the moisture in my mouth had gone and my teeth radiated heat as if they had been baked in an oven.

"Idiot," he cursed. "Not with your mouth. Use your mind. Put the flames out with your mind."

Closing my eyes, I attempted to focus my thoughts on making the inferno disappear. I was willing to do anything, no matter how irrational, to persuade the man to stop.

"Try harder." Once again the heat swung near my face, the bright light blinding me in spite of my closed eyelids.

"Set her hair on fire," a different voice instructed. He sounded younger and more eager than the other man. "That should encourage her. Here, Father, let me."

My body jerked with intense fear as I recognized the voice. I twisted to loosen the bonds that held me as my thoughts scattered into a mindless buzzing. A droning noise had echoed from my throat and grew louder until it had pervaded the room and quenched the flames.

The loud metallic clank of the lock startled me from my nightmarish memory. A wedge of pale yellow light sliced the darkness, then traveled along the stone wall as the heavy cell door opened. Caught in the lanterns glow, my eyes were seared by the brightness. I squeezed them shut as I cowered in the corner.

"Move it, rat, or we'll get the whip!" Two dungeon guards attached a chain to the metal collar on my neck and hauled me to my feet. I stumbled forward, pain blazing around my throat. As I stood on trembling legs, the guards efficiently chained my hands behind me and manacled my feet.

I averted my eyes from the flickering light as they led me down the main corridor of the dungeon. Thick rancid air puffed in my face. My bare feet shuffled through puddles of UN-identifiable muck.

Ignoring the calls and moans of the other prisoners the guards never missed a step, but my heart lurched with every word.

"Ho, ho, ho…someone's gonna swing."

"Snap! Crack! Then your last meal slides down your legs!"

"One less rat to feed."

"Take me! Take me! I wanna die too!"

We stopped. Through squinted eyes I saw a staircase. In an effort to get my foot onto the first step, I tripped over the chains and fell. The guards dragged me up. The rough edges of the stone steps dug into my skin, peeling away exposed flesh on my arms and legs. After being pulled through two sets of thick metal doors, I was dumped onto the floor. Sunlight stabbed between my eyes. I shut them tight as tears spilled down my cheeks. It was the first time that I had seen daylight in seasons.

_This is it, _I thought, starting to panic. But the knowledge that my execution would end my miserable existence in the dungeon calmed me. Yanked to my feet again, I followed the guards blindly. My body itched from insect bites and from sleeping on dirty straw. I stunk of rat. Given only a small ration of water, I didn't waste it on baths.

Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I looked around. The walls were bare, without the fabled gold sconces and elaborate tapestries I had been told once decorated the castle's main hallways.

The cold stone floor was worn smooth in the middle. We were probably traveling along the hidden corridors used solely by the servants and guards.

As we passed two open windows, I glanced out with a hunger that no food could satisfy.

The bright emerald of the grass made my eyes ache. Trees wore cloaks of leaves. Flowers laced the footpaths and over-flowed from barrels. The fresh breeze smelled like an expensive perfume, and I breathed deeply. After the acidic smells of excrement and body odour, the taste of the air was like drinking a fine wine. Warmth caressed my skin. A soothing touch compared to the constantly damp and chilly dungeon.

I guessed it was the beginning of the hot season, which meant that I had been locked on the cell for five seasons, one season shy of a full year. It seemed excessively long time for someone scheduled for execution.

Winded from the effort of marching with my feet chained, I was led into a spacious office. Maps of the Territory of Ixia and the lands beyond covered the walls. Pules of books on the floor made walking a straight line difficult.

Candles in various stages of use littered the room, singe marks evident on several papers that had gotten too close to the candles flame. A large wooden table, strewn with documents and ringed by half a dozen chairs, occupied the center of the room. At the back of the office a man sat at a desk. Behind him a square window gaped open, permitting a breeze to blow through his shoulder-length hair.

I shuddered, causing the chains to clatter. From the whispered conversations between prison cells, I had determined that condemned prisoners were taken to an official to confess their crimes before being hanged.

Wearing black pants and a black shirt with two red diamonds stitched on the collar, the man at the desk wore the uniform of an adviser to the Commander. His pallid face held no expression. As his chocolate-brown eyes scanned me, they widened in surprise.

Suddenly conscious of my appearance, I glanced down at my tattered red prison gown and dirty bare feet roughed with yellow calluses. Dirt-streaked skin showed through the rips in the thin fabric. My long dark brown hair hung in greasy clumps. Sweat-soaked I swayed under the weight of the chains.

"A woman? The next prisoner to be executed is a woman?"

His voice was icy. My body trembled on hearing the word _executed_ aloud. The calm I'd established earlier fled me. I would have sunk sobbing to the floor if the guards weren't with me. The guards tormented anyone who showed any weakness.

The man tugged at the brown ringlets of his hair. "I should have taken the time to reread your dossier." He shooed the guards away. "You're dismissed."  
When they were gone, he motioned me to the chair in front of his desk. The chains clanged as I perched on the edge.

He opened a folder on his desk and scanned the pages.

"Rosemarie, today may be your lucky day," he said.

I swallowed a sarcastic reply. An important lesson I had mastered during my dungeon stay was never talk back. I bowed my head instead, avoiding eye contact.

The man was quiet for a while." "Well-behaved and respectful. You're starting to look like a good candidate."

Despite the clutter of the room, the desk was neat. In addition to my folder and some writing implements, the only other items on the desk were two small, black statues glittering with streaks of silver – a set of panthers carved to lifelike perfection.

"You've been tried and found guilty of murdering General Brazell's only son, Reyad." He paused, stroking his temple with his fingers.

"That explains why Brazell's here this week, and why he has been unusually interested in the execution schedule." The man spoke more to himself than me.

Upon hearing Brazell's name, fear coiled in my stomach. I steadied myself with a reminder that I was soon to be out of his reach forever.

The Territory of Ixia's military had come to power only a generation ago, but the rule had produced strict laws called the Code of Behaviour. During peacetime – proper conduct didn't allow the taking of a human life. Self-preservation or an accidental death were not considered acceptable excuses. Once found guilty, the murderer was sent to the Commander's dungeon to await a public hanging.

"I suppose you're going to protest the conviction. Say you were framed or you killed out of self-defence." He leaned back in his chair, waiting with a weary patience.

"No, sir." I whispered, all I could manage from unused vocal cords. "I killed him."

The man in black straightened in his chair, shooting me a hard look. Then he laughed aloud. "This may work out better than I'd planned. Rosemarie, I'm offering you a choice. You can either be executed, or you can be Commander Ambrose's new food taster. His last taster died recently, and we need to fill the position."

I gaped at him, my heart dancing. He had to be joking, He was probably amusing himself. Great way to get a laugh. Watch hope and joy shine on a prisoners face, then smash it by sending the accused to the noose.

I played along. "A fool would refuse the job." My voice rasped louder this time.

"Well, it's a lifetime position. The training can be lethal. After all, how can you identify poisons in the Commander's food if you don't know what they taste like?" He tidied the papers in the folder.

"You'll get a room in the castle to sleep, but most of the day you'll be with the Commander. No days off. No husband or children. Some prisoners have chosen execution instead. At least then they know exactly when they're going to die, rather than guessing if it's going to come with the next bite." He clicked his teeth together, a feral grin on his face.

He was serious. My whole body shook. A chance to live! Service to the Commander was better than the dungeon and infinitely better than the noose. Questions raced through my mind: I'm a convicted killer, how can they trust me? What would prevent me from killing the Commander or escaping?

"Who tastes the Commander's food now? I asked instead, afraid if I asked the other questions he'd realize his mistake and send me to the gallows.

"I do. So I'm anxious to find a replacement. Also the Code of Behavior states that someone whose life is a forfeit must be offered the job."

No longer able to sit still, I stood and paced around the room, dragging my chains with me. The maps on the walls showed strategic military positions. Book titles dealt with security and spying techniques. The condition and the amount of candles suggested someone who worked late into the night. I looked back at the man in the adviser's uniform. He had to be Belikov, the Commander's personal security chief and leader of the vast intelligence network for the Territory of Ixia.

"What shall I tell the executioner?" Belikov asked.

"I am not a fool."

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**Hope you enjoyed it, the story gets very good and I think you will all like it. Tell what you think R&R!  
P.s For those that are waiting, I will get the last chapters of Mesmerising Stranger up by the weekend!  
**

**xxSezaxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey hey! Here is chapter 2 and enjoy!**

**~Disclaimer and copyright goes to Maria V. Snyder!**

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Chapter 2

Previously on Poison Study:

"What shall I tell the executioner?" Belikov asked.

"I am not a fool."

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Dimitri snapped the folder closed. He walked to the door, his stride as graceful and light as a snow cat traversing thin ice. The guards waiting in the hall snapped to attention when the door opened. Dimitri spoke to them, and they nodded. One guard came toward me. I stared at him, going back to the dungeon had not been part of Dimitri's offer. Could I escape? I scanned the room. The guard spun me around and removed the manacles and chains that has been draped around me since I'd been arrested.

Raw bands of flesh circled my bloody wrists. I touched my neck, feeling skin where there used to be metal. My fingers came away sticky with blood. I groped for the chair. Being freed of the weight of the chains caused a strange sensation to sweep over me; I felt as if I were either going to float away or pass out. I inhaled until the faintness passed.

When I regained my composure, I noticed Dimitri now stood beside his desk pouring two drinks. An opened wooden cabinet revealed rows of odd-shaped bottles and multi-coloured jars stacked inside. Dimitri placed the bottle he was holding into the cabinet and locked the door.  
"While we're waiting for Margg, I thought maybe you could use a drink." He handed me a tall pewter goblet filled with an amber liquid. Raising his own goblet, he made a toast. "To Rose our newest food taster. May you last longer than your predecessor."

My goblet stopped short of my lips.

"Relax," he said, "It's a standard toast."

I took a long swig. The smooth liquid burned slightly as it slid down my throat. For a moment, I thought my stomach was going to rebel. This was the first time I had taken something other than water. Then it settled.

Before I could question him as to what exactly had happened to the previous food taster, Dimitri asked me to identify the ingredients of the drink. Taking a smaller portion, I replied,

"Peaches sweetened with honey."

"Good. Now take another sip. This time roll the liquid around your tongue before swallowing."

I complied and was surprised to taste a faint citrus flavor.

"Orange?"

"That's right. Now gargle it."

"Gargle?" I asked. He nodded. Feeling foolish, I gargled the rest of my drink and almost spat it out.

"Rotten oranges!"

The skin around Dimitri's eyes crinkled as he laughed. He had a strong, angular face, as ifs someone had stamped it from a sheet of metal, but it softened when he smiled. Handing me his drink, he asked me to repeat the experiment.

With some trepidation, I took a sip, again detecting the faint orange taste. Bracing myself for the rancid flavor, I gargled Dimitri's drink and was relieved that gargling only enhanced the orange essence.

"Better?" Dimitri asked as he took back the empty cup.

"Yes."

Dimitri sat down behind his desk, opening my folder once more. Picking up his quill, he talked to me while writing. "You just had your first lesson in food tasting. Your drink was laced with a poison called Butterfly's Dust. Mine wasn't. The only way to detect Butterfly's Dust in liquid is to gargle it. That rotten-orange flavor you tasted was the poison."

I rose, my head spinning. "Is it lethal?"

"A big enough dose will kill you in two days. The symptoms don't arrive until the second day, but by then it's too late."

"Did I have a lethal dose?" I held my breath.

"Of course. Anything less and you wouldn't have tasted the poison.'

My stomach rebelled and I started to gag. I forced down the bile in my throat, trying hard to avoid the indignity of vomiting all over Dimitri's desk.

Dimitri looked up from his stack of papers. He studied my face. "I warned you the training would be dangerous. But I would hardly give you a poison your body had to fight off while you suffered from malnutrition. There is an antidote to Butterfly's Dust." He showed me a small vial containing a white liquid.

Collapsing back into my chair, I sighed. Dimitri's metal face had returned; I realized he hadn't offered the antidote to me.

"The answer to the question you didn't ask but should have, this-"Dimitri raised the small vial and shook it "- is how we keep the Commander's food tasters from escaping."

I stared at him, trying to understand the implication.

"Rosemarie, you confessed to murder. We would be fools to let you serve the Commander without some guarantees. Guards watch the Commander at all times and it is doubtful you would be able to reach him with a weapon. For other forms of retaliation, we use Butterfly's Dust." Dimitri picked up the vial of antidote, and twirled it in the sunlight. "You need a daily dose of this to stay alive. The antidote keeps the poison from killing you. As long as you show up each morning in my office, I will give you the antidote. Miss one morning and you'll be dead by the next. Commit a crime or an act of treason and you'll be sent back to the dungeon until the poison takes you. I would avoid that fate, if I were you. The poison causes severe stomach cramps and uncontrollable vomiting."

Before full comprehension of my situation could sink in, Dimitri's eyes slid past my shoulder. I turned to see a stout woman in a housekeeper's uniform opening the door. Dimitri introduced her as Margg, the person who would take care of my basic needs. Expecting me to follow her, Margg strode out of the door.

I glanced at the vial on Dimitri's desk.

"Come to my office tomorrow morning. Margg will direct you."

An obvious dismissal, but I paused at the door with all the questions I should have asked poised on my lips. I swallowed them. They sank like stones in my stomach, then I closed the door and hurried after Margg, who hadn't stopped to wait.

Margg never slowed her pace. I found myself panting with the effort to keep up. Trying to remember the various corridors and turns, I soon gave up as my whole world shrank to the sight of Marggs broad back and efficient stride. Her long black skirt seemed to float above the floor. The housekeeper uniform included a black shirt and white apron that hung from the neck down to the ankle and was cinched tight around the waist. The apron had two vertical rows of small red diamond-shapes connected end to end. When Margg finally stopped at the baths, I had to sit on the floor to clear my spinning head.

"You stink," Margg said, disgust creasing her wide face. She pointed to the far side of the baths in a manner that indicated she was used to being obeyed. "Wash twice, then soak. I'll bring you some uniforms." She left the room.

The overpowering desire to bathe flashed like fire on my skin. Energized, I ripped the prison robe off and raced to the washing area. Hot water poured down in a cascade when I opened the duct above my head. The Commander's castle was equipped with heated water tanks located one floor above the baths, a luxury even Brazell's extravagant manor house didn't have.

I stood for a long time, hoping the drumming on my head would erase the thoughts of poisons. Obediently I washed my hair and body twice. My neck, wrists and ankles burned from the soap, but I didn't care. I scrubbed two more times, rubbing hard at the stubborn spots of dirt on my skin, stopping only when I realized they were bruises.

I felt unconnected to the body under the waterfall. The pain and humiliation of being arrested and locked away had been inflicted on this body, but my soul had long since been driven out during the last two years I had lived in Brazell's manor house.

An image of Brazell's son suddenly flashed before me. Reyad's handsome face distorted with rage. I stepped back, reflexively jerking my hands up to block him. The image disappeared, leaving me shaking.

It was an effort to dry off and wrap a towel around me. I tried to focus on finding a comb instead of the ugly memories Reyad's image called forth.

Even clean, my snarled hair resisted the comb. As I searched for a pair of scissors, I spotted another person in the baths from the corner of my eye. I stared at the body. A corpse looked back at me.

The brown eyes were the only signs of life in the gaunt, oval face. Thin stick legs looked incapable of holding the rest of the body up.

Recognition shot through me like a cold splash of fear. It was _my_ body. I averted my eyes from the mirror, having no desire to assess the damage. Coward, I thought, returning my gaze with a purpose. Had Reyad's death released my soul from where it fled? In my mind I tried to reconnect my spirit to my body. Why did I think my soul would return if my body was still not mine? It belonged to Commander Ambrose to be used as a tool for filtering and testing poisons. I turned away.

Pulling clumps of knotted hair out with the comb, I arranged the rest into a single long braid down my back.

Not long ago all I had hoped for was a clean prison robe before my execution, and now here I was sinking into the Commander's famous hot baths.

"That's long enough," Margg barked, startling me out of a light doze. "Here are your uniforms. Get dressed." Her stiff face radiated disapproval.

As I dried myself, I felt Margg's impatience.

Along with some undergarments, the food taster's uniform consisted of black pants, a wide red satin belt and a red satin shirt with a line of small black diamond-shapes connected end to end down each of the sleeves. The clothes were obviously sized for a man. Malnourished and measuring only four inches past five feet, I looked like a child playing pretend with her father's clothes. I wrapped the belt three times around my waist and rolled up the sleeves and pant legs.

Margg snorted. "Advisor Belikov only told me to feed you and show you to your room. But I think we'll stop by the seamstress's first." Pausing at the open door, Margg pursed her lips and added, "You'll need boots too."

Obediently, I followed Margg like a lost puppy.

The seamstress, Dilana, laughed gaily at my appearance. Her heart-shaped face had a halo of curly blond hair. Honey-coloured eyes and long eyelashes enhanced her beauty.

"The stable boys wear the same pants and the kitchen maids wear the red shirts," Dilana said when she had stifled her giggles. She admonished Margg for not spending the time to find me better-size uniforms. Margg pushed her lips together tighter.

Fussing around me like a grandmother instead of a young woman. Dilana's attentions warmed me, pulling me toward her. I envisioned us becoming friends. She probably had many acquaintances and suitors who came to bask in her attentions like cave dwellers drawn to a blazing hearth. I found myself aching to reach out to her. After writing my measurements down, Dilana searched through the piles of red, black and white clothing stacked around the room.

Everyone who worked in Ixia wore a uniform. The Commander's castle servants and guards wore a variation of black, white and red colour clothes with vertical diamond shapes either down the sleeves of the shirts or down the sides of the pants. Advisors and higher-ranking officers usually wore all black with small red diamonds stitched on the collars to show rank. The uniform system became mandatory when the Commander gained power so everyone knew at a glance who they were dealing with.

Black and red were Commander Ambrose's colours. The Territory of Ixia had been separated into eight Military Districts each ruled by a general. The uniforms of the either districts were identical to the Commander's except for the colour. A housekeeper wearing black with small purple diamond shapes on her apron therefore worked in Military District 3 or MD-3.

"I think these should fit better." She handed me some clothes, gesturing to the privacy screen at the far end of the room.

While I was changing, I heard Dilana say, 'She'll need boots."

Feeling less foolish in my new clothes, I picked up the old uniforms and gave them to Dilana.

"These must have belonged to Oscove, the old food taster." Dilana said.

A sad expression gripped her face for a moment before she shook her head as if to rid herself of an unwanted thought.

All my fantasies of friendship fled me as I realised that being friends with the Commander's food taster was a big emotional risk. My stomach hollowed out while Dilana's warmth leaked from me, leaving a cold bitterness behind.

A sharp stab of loneliness struck me as an unwanted image of May and Carra, who still lived at Brazell's manor, flashed before my eyes. My fingers twitched to fix Carra's crooked braids and to straighten May's skirt.

Instead of Carra's silky ginger hair in my hands, I held a stack of clothes. Dilana guided me to a chair. Kneeling on the floor, she put socks on my feet and then a pair of boots. The boots were made of soft black leather. They came up over my ankle to midcalf, where the leather folded down. Dilana tucked my pant legs into the boots and helped me stand.

I hadn't worn shoes in seasons and I expected them to chafe.

But the boots cushioned my feet and fit well. I smiled at Dilana, thoughts of May and Carra temporarily banished.

These were the finest pair of boots I'd ever worn.

She smiled back and said, "I can always pick the right-size boots without having to measure."

Margg harrumphed. "You didn't get poor Rand's boots right. He's too smitten with you too complain. Now he limps around the kitchen."

"Don't pay any attention to her," Dilana said to me. "Margg don't you have work to do? Get going or I'll sneak into your room and shorten all your skirts." Dilana shooed us good-naturedly out the door.

Margg took me to the servant's dining room and served me small portions of soup and bread. The soup tasted divine. After devouring the food, I asked for more.

"No. Too much will make you sick," was all she said. With reluctance I left my bowl on the table to follow Margg to my room.

"At sunrise be ready to work."

Once again I watched her retreating back.

My small room contained a narrow bed with a single stained mattress on a stark metal frame, a plain wooden desk and chair, a chamber pot, an armoire, a lantern, a tiny woodstove and one window shuttered tight. The grey stone walls were unadorned. I tested the mattress; it barely yielded. A vast improvement over my dungeon cell, yet I found myself somewhat dissatisfied.

Nothing in the room suggests softness. With my mind and eyes filled with Dimitri's metal face and Margg's censure, and the harsh cut and colours of the uniforms, I longed for a pillow or blanket. I felt like a lost child looking for something to clutch, something supple that wouldn't end up hurting me.

After hanging my extra uniforms in the armoire, I crossed to the window.

There was a sill wide enough for me to sit on. The shutters were locked, but the latches were on the inside. Hands shaking, I unlocked and pushed the shutters wide, blinking in the sudden light. Shielding my eyes, I squinted beneath my hand, and stared at the scene in front of my window in disbelief. I was on the first floor of the castle! Five feet below was the ground.

Between my room and the stables were the Commander's kennels and the exercise yard for the horses. The stable boys and dog trainers wouldn't care if I escaped. I could drop down without any effort and be gone. Tempting, except for the fact that I would be dead in two days. Maybe another time, when two days of freedom might be worth the price.

I could hope.

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**xxSezaxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello here is chapter 3! I just wanted to remind the readers that I AM NOT the author of this story, all i'm doing is changing the two main characters names and relaying the story :)**

**Previously on: Poison Study**

**"The stable boys and dog trainers wouldn't care if I escaped. I could drop down without any effort and be gone. Tempting, except for the fact that I would be dead in two days. Maybe another time, when two days of freedom might be worth the price.**

**I could hope."**

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Chapter 3: Poison Study

Reyad's whip cut into my skin, slashing my flesh with a burning pain. "Move," he ordered.

I dodged ineffectively, hampered by the rope tied to my wrist, which anchored me to a post in the centre of the room.

"Move faster, keep moving!" Reyad shouted.

The whip snapped again and again. My tattered shirt gave no protection from the stinging leather. A cool, soothing voice entered my skull. "Go away," it whispered. "Send your mind to a distant place, a warm loving place. Let your body go."

The silken voice didn't belong to Reyad or Brazell. A saviour, perhaps? An easy way to escape the torment, tempting but I held out for another opportunity. Determined, I stayed, focusing on avoiding the lash. When exhaustion claimed me, my body began to vibrate of its own accord. Like an out-of-control hummingbird, I darted around the room, avoiding the whip.

I woke in darkness soaked with sweat, my crumpled uniform twisted tight around my body. The vibration in my dream replaced by a pounding. Before falling asleep, I had wedged a chair under the doorknob to prevent anyone from barging in. The chair rattled with each thud.

"I'm up," I shouted. The racket stopped. When I opened the door, Margg stood frowning with a lantern. I hastened to change my uniform and joined her in the hallway. "I thought you said sunrise."

Her disapproving stare seared my lips shut. "It is sunrise."

I followed Margg through the labyrinth of the castles hidden hallways as the day began to brighten. My room faced west, shielding me from the morning sun. Margg extinguished the lantern just as the scent of sweet cakes filled the air.

Inhaling I asked her, "Breakfast?" A hopeful, almost pleading, note crept into my voice, galling me.

"No. Dimitri will feed you."

The image of breakfast laced with poison did wonders for suppressing my appetite. My stomach tightened as the unwanted memory of Dimitri's Butterfly's Dust came to mind. By the time we had reached his office, I had convinced myself that I was about to collapse, soon to be vanquished by the poison if I didn't receive the antidote.

When I entered the room, Dimitri was in the process of arranging plates of steaming food. He had cleared off a section of the table. The displaced papers balanced in a messy piles he gestured to a chair; I sat, searching the table for the small vial of antidote.

"I hope you're…" Dimitri studied my face. I stared back, trying not to flinch under his scrutiny.

"It's amazing what a difference a bath and a uniform can make," Dimitri said, absently chewing on a slice of bacon. "I'll have to remember that. It might be useful in the future." Placing two plates of an egg-and-ham mixture before me, he said, "Let's get started."

Feeling dizzy and flushed, I blurted out, "I'd rather start with the antidote." Another long pause from Dimitri caused me to fidget in my seat.

"You shouldn't be feeling any symptoms. They won't arrive until later this afternoon." He shrugged and went to his cabinet. He used a pipette to extract a measure of the white liquid from a large bottle, and then locked the antidote back inside the cabinet. My interest in the location of the key must have been obvious because Dimitri used some type of sleight of hand to make the key disappear. Handing me the pipette, he sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"Drink up so we can start today's lesson," he said.

I squeezed the contents into my mouth, cringing at the bitter taste. Dimitri took the pipette from my hands and exchanged it for a blue jar. "Take a sniff."

The jar contained a white powder, resembling sugar but smelling like rosewood. Gesturing to the two plates cooling in front of me, Dimitri asked me to pick the one sprinkled with the poison. I sniffed at the food like a scent hound nosing for prey. A faint odor of rosewood emanated from the left plate.

"Good. Should you pick up that aroma from any of the Commander's food, reject it. The poison is called Tigtus and a single grain of the powder will kill within the hour." Dimitri removed the tainted food. "Eat your breakfast." He indicated to the other plate. "You'll need your strength."

I spent the remainder of the day smelling poisons until my head ached and spun. The multitude of names and aromas began to confuse me, so I asked Dimitri for some paper, quill and ink. He stilled.

"I don't know why you continue to surprise me. I should have remembered that General Brazell educates his orphans."

Dimitri flung a book of papers, a quill and ink down in front of me.

"Take them back to your room. We've done enough for today."

I silently cursed myself for reminding Dimitri why I had been the next person to be executed as I gathered the book and written implements. Dimitri's hard, unforgiving expression revealed his thoughts. Taken off the streets, fed and educated by Brazell, I had repaid Brazell's kindness by murdering his only child. I knew Dimitri would never believe the truth about Brazell and Reyad.

General Brazell's orphanage was a topic of ridicule from the other generals. They thought he had gone 'soft' after the take-over of Ixia fifteen years ago. This impression suited Brazell. Seen as a kindly old benefactor, Brazell could continue unchallenged in his administration of Military District 5.

I hesitated at the entrance of Dimitri's office, noticing for the first time the three complex locks on the thick wooden door. Absently fingering the locking mechanisms, I lingered in the doorway until Dimitri asked, "Now what?"

"I'm not sure where my room is."

Dimitri spoke as if talking to a slow-witted child. "Ask the first housekeeper or kitchen maid you find, they're always scurrying about this time of day. Tell her you're in the west servant wing, ground floor. She'll show you."

The kitchen maid I snared into helping me was more talkative than Margg and I took full advantage of her good nature. She guided me to the laundry room to obtain some linens for my bed. Then I had her show me the way to the baths and the seamstress's work area. Dilana's piles of uniforms might come in handy one day.

In my room, I opened the shutters to let in the fading light from the setting sun. Sitting down at my desk, I wrote exhaustive notes on what I had learned that day, including a rough map of the servant's corridors. I considered more exploration of the castle, but Dimitri had been right, I needed my strength. I hoped I would have enough time to explore later.

During the next two weeks, the training proceeded in a manner so similar to the first day that I lapsed into a routine, arriving at Dimitri's every morning to train. After fourteen days of sniffing poisons, I found that my sense of smell had heightened. But then Dimitri announced I was strong enough to begin tasting poisons.

"I'll start with the deadliest one," he said. "If you don't die from it, the other poisons wouldn't kill you either. I don't want to waste all my time training you only to see you die in the end."

He placed a slender red bottle on his desk. "It's nasty. Affects the body immediately." Dimitri's eyes lit up as he admired the poison.

"It's called Have a Drink, My love, or My love for short because the poison has a history of being used by disheartened wives."

He squeezed two drops of the poison into a steaming cup. "A larger dose would definitely kill you. With a smaller dose, there is a chance you'll survive, but you'll become delusional, paranoid and completely disorientated for the next few days."

"Dimitri, why do I have to taste My Love if it has immediate results? Isn't that what a food taster is for? I taste the Commander's food. I keel over, dead. End of the tale." I tried pacing around the room but kept tripping over stacks of books. Frustrated, I kicked two piles into their neighbors, scattering books into a messy heap on the floor. Dimitri's gaze pierced me, draining the odd feeling of satisfaction I had gotten from kicking the books.

"A food tasters job is much more complex than that," Dimitri explained, pulling his hair back from his face.

"Being able to identify which poison taints the Commander's food can lead me to the poisoner." Dimitri handed me the cup. "Even if you only have a split second to shout out My Love before passing out, it would narrow down the list of suspects. There are a number of assassins who are partial to My Love. The poison is grown in Sitia, the southern lands. It was easy to obtain before the takeover. With the closure of the southern border, only a handful of people have enough money to purchase it illegally."

Dimitri went over to the mess on the floor and started re stacking the books. His movements were so graceful that I wondered if he had been a dancer, but his words betrayed to me that his fluid gestures were those of a trained killer.

"Rose, your job is very important. That's why I spend so much time training you. A shrewd assassin can watch a taster for several days to discover a pattern." Dimitri continued his lecture from the floor. "For example, the taster might always cut a piece of meat from the left side, or never stir the drink. Some poisons sink to the bottom of the cup. If the taster only sips off the top, then the assassin knows exactly where to place the poison to kill his intended victim."

He finished picking up the books. The new piles were neater than the rest of the stacks on the floor. It seemed an invitation to Dimitri to continue straightening the books. He cleared a bigger path through his office.

"Once you drink the poison. Margg will help you to your room and take care of you. I'll give her your daily dose of Butterfly's Dust antidote."

I stared at the steam drifting from the tea. I picked up the cup, the heat warming my icy hands. When Margg entered the room, it felt as if the executioner had just mounted the dais, reaching for the lever. Should I sit down or lie down? I looked around the room, seeing nothing. My arms started to tingle as I realized I had been holding my breath.

I raised the cup in a mock salute, and then drained the contents. "Sour apples," I said.

Dimitri nodded. I had only enough time to put the cup on the table before my world began to melt. Margg's body undulated toward me. Her large head sprouted flowers from her eye sockets. A moment later her body filled the room as her head shriveled.

I sensed movement. The grey walls grew arms and legs that reached for me, trying to use me in their fight against the floor. Gray spirits rose from under my feet. They dived, poked and cackled at me. They were freedom. I tried to push the Margg thing away, but it clung and wrapped itself around me, digging through my ears and pounding on my head.

"Murderer," it whispered. "Sneaky bitch. You probably slit his throat while he slept. Easy way to kill. Did you enjoy yourself as you watched his blood soak the sheets? You're nothing but a rat."

I grabbed at the voice, trying to make it stop, but it turned into two green-and-black toy soldiers who held me tight.

"She'll die from the poison. If not you can take her," the Margg thing said to the soldiers.

They pushed me into a dark pit. I plunged into blackness.

The stench of vomit and excrement greeted me when I regained consciousness. They were the unmistakeable odors of the dungeon. Wondering how I had ended up back in my old cell, I sat up. A surge of nausea demanded my attention. I groped around for the slop pot and encountered the metal leg of a bed, which I clutched as dry heaves racked my body. When they stopped, I leaned against the wall, grateful to be on the floor of my room and not back in the dungeon. Beds were a luxury not included in subterranean accommodations.

Summoning the strength to stand, I located and lit my lantern. Dried vomit caked my face. My shirt and pants were soaking wet and smelled foul. The liquid contents of my body had collected in a puddle on the floor.

Margg took good care of me, I thought sarcastically. At least she was practical. If she had dumped me on the bed I would have ruined the mattress.

I thanked fate that I had survived the poison and that I had awakened in the middle of the night. Unable to endure the feel of my sodden uniform any longer, I made my way to the baths. On my return, voices stopped me before I reached the hallway leading to my room. Extinguishing my lantern in one quick motion, I peeked around the corner. Two soldiers stood in front of my door. The soft light of their lantern reflected the green-and-black colors of their uniforms-Brazell's colors.

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**I still love to read your reviews on the story, again Maria V. Snyder is a really good author and I very much enjoy her novels.**

**xxSezaxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's chapter four! Thanks for the reviews~ Disclaimer: Owned by Maria V. Snyder**

**Previously on: Poison Study**

**Two soldiers stood in front of my door. The soft light of their lantern reflected the green-and-black colors of their uniforms-Brazell's colors.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"Should we check if she's dead?" asked one of Brazell's soldiers. He held the lantern up to my door, his overloaded weapon belt jingling with the motion.

"No. That housekeeper checks every morning and gives her a potion. We'll hear about it soon enough. Besides, it stinks in there." The other soldier waved his hand in front of his face.

"Yeah. If the smell don't kill the mood, taking off her vomit soaked uniform would make any man gag. Although…" The lantern soldier's hand briefly touched the manacles hanging from his belt.

"We could drag her down to the baths, clean her up, and have some fun before she dies."

"No, someone would see us. If she survives, we'll have plenty of time to peel off her uniform. It'll be just like opening a present, and definitely more entertaining when she's awake." He leered. They laughed.

They continued down the hallway and were soon out of sight. I clung to the wall and wondered if what I had just witnessed had been real. Was I still having paranoid hallucinations? My head felt as if it had been soaked too long in a pool of water. Dizziness and nausea rippled through my body.

The soldiers were long gone before I worked up the nerve to go back to my room. I pushed the door wide and thrust my lantern in front of me, shining the light into every corner and under the bed. A harsh, acrid odor was the only thing to attack me. Gagging, I unlocked the shutters and threw them open, taking deep breaths of the cool, cleansing air.

I looked at the noxious puddle on the floor. The last thing I wanted to do was clean up the mess, but I knew I would never be able to sleep while breathing in that foul smell. After raiding the housekeeping's supplies, I managed to scrub the floor without fainting.

Exhausted, I stretched out on the bed. It felt lumpy. I turned in my blankets, hoping to find a comfortable position. What if Brazell's soldiers came back? Asleep in bed, I would be an easy target. I had cleaned myself up so there was no need to drag me to the baths. The room smelled like disinfectant, and I had forgotten to put the chair under the doorknob.

Imagination kicked in, a vivid scene of me manacled to the bed, helpless while the soldiers stripped me slowly to heighten their anticipation and savor my fear.

The walls of my room seemed to thicken and pulse. I bolted out into the hallway, expecting to see Brazell's soldiers lurking around my door. The corridor was dark and deserted.

When I tried to reenter my room, I felt as if someone pressed a pillow against my face. I couldn't get my feet to move past the doorway. My room was a trap. The paranoia effect of My Love or common sense? I wondered. The indecision kept me standing in the hallway until my stomach growled. Guided by my hunger, I searched for food.

Hoping to find the kitchen empty, I was dismayed to see a tall man wearing a white uniform with two black diamond's printed on the front of his shirt mumbling to himself as he lurched around the ovens. His left leg didn't bend. I tried to sneak back out but he spotted me.

"Are you looking for me?" He asked.

"No," I said. "I was…looking for something to eat." I craned my neck back to see his face.

He frowned and shifted his weight to his good leg as he studied my uniform. Too thin for a cook, I thought, but he wore the proper clothes and only a cook would be up this early. He was handsome in a subtle way, with light brown eyes and short brown hair. I wondered if this was Dilana's Rand that Margg talked about.

"Help yourself." He gestured toward two steaming loaves of bread. "You just won me a week's wages."

"Excuse me," I said while cutting off a large piece of bread.

"How could I win you money?"

"You're the new food taster. Right?"  
I nodded.

"Everyone knows Belikov gave you a dose of My Love. I took a chance and bet a week's wages that you would live." He stopped to take three more loaves out of the oven.

"A big risk, since you're the smallest and skinniest food taster we've ever had. Most of everyone else had wagered that you wouldn't pull through, including Margg."

The cook rummaged through one of the cabinets. "Here." He handed me some butter. "I'll make you some sweet cakes."

Grabbing various ingredients from a shelf, he proceeded to mix up a batter.

"How many food tasters have there been?" I asked him between bites of buttered bread. Working alone didn't seem to suit him. He seemed glad to have some company.

With his hands in constant motion, he said, "Five since Commander Ambrose has been in power. Belikov loves his poisons. He poisoned many of the Commander's enemies, and he likes to keep in practice. You know, testing the food tasters from time to time to make sure they haven't grown lazy."

The cook's words crawled up in my spine. I felt as if my body had liquefied and pooled into a giant mixing bowl. I was just a puddle of ingredients to be beaten, stirred and used. When the cook poured the batter onto the hot griddle, my blood sizzled along with the sweet cakes.

"Poor Oscove, Belikov never liked him. Testing him constantly until he couldn't handle the pressure. The 'official' cause of death was suicide, but I think Belikov killed him."

Flip. I started as the cook deftly flicked his wrist, turning the cakes over. My muscles trembled in synch with the sound frying sweet cakes. Here I was worried about Brazell, when one misstep with Dimitri and…Flip. I would be gone. He probably held a couple of poisons in reserve just in case he decided to replace the taster. Glancing over my shoulder, I imagined Dimitri coming into the kitchen to poison my breakfast. I couldn't even enjoy talking with a chatty cook without being reminded of that tasting potentially poisoned food wasn't the only danger of my new job.

The cook handed me a plate of loaded sweet cakes, took three more loaves of bread of the oven and refilled his bread pans with dough. Piping-hot sweet cakes were such a rare treat that I devoured them despite my unsettled stomach.

"Oscove was my friend. He was the Commander's best food taster. He used to come to my kitchen every morning after breakfast and help me invent new recipes. I have to keep things interesting or the Commander will start looking for a new cook. Know what I mean?"

I nodded, wiping butter off my chin.

He thrust out his hand. "My name's Rand."

I shook his hand. "Rose."

* * *

I stopped at an open window on my way to Dimitri's office. The rising sun was just cresting the Soul Mountains to the east of the castle. The colors in the sky resembled a ruined painting, as if a small child had spilled water on the canvas. I let my eyes feast on the vibrant display of life as I inhaled the fresh air. Everything was in full bloom, and soon the cool morning breeze would warm to a comfortable level. The hot season was in its infancy. The days of sweltering heat and limp, humid nights were still a few weeks away. I had been training with Dimitri for a fortnight, and I wondered how long My Love had held me unconscious.

Tearing myself away from the window, I walked toward Dimitri's office, arriving at his door just as he was leaving.

"Rose! You made it." Dimitri smiled. "It's been three days. I was beginning to worry."

I studied his face, He seemed sincerely glad to see me.

"Where's Margg?" he asked.

"I haven't seen her." Thank fate, I thought.

"Then you'll need your antidote," Dimitri said while moving back to his cabinet.

Once I swallowed the liquid, Dimitri headed toward the door. When I didn't follow, he gestured to me.

"I have to taste the Commander's breakfast," he said, setting a quick pace.

I huffed along behind him.

"It's time you meet the Commander and watch how food tasting should be done."  
We turned into the main hallway of the castle. Dimitri didn't miss a step, but I stumbled and stifled a gasp. The famous tapestries from the King's era were torn and soiled with black paint. In Brazell's orphanage we had been taught that each tapestry represented a province from the old kingdom. Hand-quilted with gold threads during the course of many years, the colored silk pictures told a story about the history of each province. Now in rags, they still told a very powerful tale about the Commander's rule.

The Commander's disdain for opulence, excesses and injustices of the former ruler and his family was well known throughout Ixia. From monarchy to military, the changes in Ixia were severe. While some citizens embraced the simple but strict rules in the Code of Behaviour, others rebelled by refusing to wear their uniforms, by not requesting permission to travel, and by escaping to the south.

Based on the offense, the insurgents' punishment matched exactly what was written in the Code. No uniform meant two days chained naked in the town's square. It didn't matter if the offender had a legitimate reason; the punishment was always the same. Ixia's people discovered that there wasn't going to be any guessing about their punishment. No bribing or good-old-boy networking either; the Commander meant business. Live by the Code or face the consequences.

I pulled my eyes away from the tapestries in time to see Dimitri disappear through an arched doorway decorated with lavish stonework. Splintered wooden doors hung crookedly on their hinges, but the intricate carvings of trees and exotic birds were still visible. Another victim of the takeover, and another reminder of the Commander's intent.

I stopped in amazement just past the broken doors. This was the castle's throne room. Inside was a sea of desks occupied by numerous advisers and military officers from every Military District in the Territory. The room hummed with activity.

It was hard to distinguish individuals in the commotion, but I finally spotted Dimitri's smooth stride as he went through an open door at the back of the room. Finding a path around the maze of desks took some time. When I arrived at the door, I heard a man's voice complaining about cold sweet cakes. Commander Ambrose sat behind a plain wooden desk. His office was stark in comparison to Dimitri's and lacked personal decorations. The only object in the room that did not have a specific purpose was a hand-size statue of a black snow cat. The cat's eyes glinted with silver, and bright specks of the metal peppered the beasts powerful back.

The Commander's black uniform was perfectly tailored and immaculate, indistinguishable from Dimitri's except that the diamonds stitched on his collar were real. They twinkled in the morning light. The Commander's black hair was sprinkled with gray and cut so short that the strands stood straight up. In Brazell's classroom, we had learned that the Commander avoided public appearances and having his portrait painted. The fewer people who knew what he looked like, the less his chances were of being assassinated. Some thought he was paranoid, but I believed that since he had gained power by using assassins and covert warfare he was merely being realistic.

This was not the Commander I had envisioned: burly, bearded, and weighed down with medals and weapons. He was thin, clean shaven, with delicate features.

"Commander, this is Rosemarie, your new food taster," Dimitri said, pulling me into the room.

The Commander's gold almond-shaped eyes met mine. His gaze had the sharpness of a sword point. It pressed against my throat and fastened me to the floor. I felt myself being drawn out and examined. When he looked over at Dimitri, I swayed with relief.

"From what Brazell's been hollering about, I expected her to breathe fire," the Commander said.

I stiffened on hearing Brazell's name. If Brazell was complaining to the Commander, I could be back in line for the noose.

"Brazell's a fool," Dimitri said. "He wanted the drama of a public hanging for his son's killer. I personally would have taken care of her immediately. It would have been within his rights." Dimitri slurped the Commander's tea and sniffed the sweet cakes.

My chest was tight. I was having trouble drawing in air.

"Besides, it's clearly written in the Code of Behaviour that the next to be hanged gets the job offer. And Brazell was one of the authors."

Cutting a piece of one sweet cake from the center and the other from the side, Dimitri put both pieces in his mouth chewing slowly. "Here." He handed the plate to the Commander.

"Brazell does have a point," the Commander said. He picked up his tea and stared at the contents.

"When does she start? I'm getting tired of cold food."

"A few more days."

"Good," the Commander said to Dimitri, then turned to me.

"You arrive with my food and taste quick. I don't want to be looking for you. Understand?"  
Feeling light-headed, I answered, "Yes, Sir."

"Dimitri, I'm losing weight because of you. Lunch is in the war room. Don't be late."  
"Yes, Sir," Dimitri said and headed for the door. I followed. We wound our way through the tangle of desks.

When Dimitri stopped to consult with another advisor, I glanced around. A handful of the Commander's advisers were women, and I noticed two female Captains and one Colonel. Their new roles were one of the benefits of the takeover. The Commander assigned jobs based on skills and intelligence, not on gender. While the monarchy preferred to see the women work as maids, kitchen helpers and wives, the Commander gave them the freedom to choose what they wanted to do. Some women preferred their former occupations, while others jumped at the chance to do something else, and the younger generations had been quick to take advantage of the new opportunities.

When we finally reached Dimitri's office, Margg was dusting around Dimitri's piles of papers on the table. It looked to me as if she was spending more time reading the papers than straightening them. Didn't Dimitri notice? I wondered what Margg did for Dimitri besides cleaning.

Margg turned a pleasant face to Dimitri, but as soon as he walked away she glared fiercely at me. Must have lost a lot of money betting against my survival, I thought. I smiled at her. She managed to control her outraged expression before Dimitri glanced up at us from his desk.

"Rose, you look exhausted. You make me tired just looking at you. Go rest. Come back after lunch and we'll continue with your training."

I didn't really feel tired, but rest sounded like an excellent idea. As I moved along the hallway, Dimitri's comment wormed its way through my mind. My pace slowed and I dragged my feet toward my room. I was so preoccupied with the physical effort of walking that I bumped right into two of Brazell's guards.

"Lookie, Wren, I found our rat!" one guard exclaimed, grabbing my wrist.

Alert, I gaped at the green diamonds on the guard's uniform.

"Good for you," Wren said. "Let's show your catch to General Brazell."

"The General isn't fond of live rats. Especially this one."

The guard shook me hard. Pain coursed up my arm to my shoulder and neck. In a panic, I searched the hallway for help. It was deserted.

"That's right, he prefers them skinned alive."

I'd heard enough. I did what any good rat would do. I bit down on the guard's hand until I tasted blood. Yelping and cursing in surprise, his grip lessened. I jerked my arm out of his grasp and ran.

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**Thanks again for reading and R&R!  
Rose's character develops a lot in the story so you won't be disappointed!**

**xxSezaxx**


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